


Normal Stuff

by Spayne



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spayne/pseuds/Spayne
Summary: This relationship has always been backwards, so why not start in the middle
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 120
Kudos: 578





	1. Getting To Know Each Other

“There must have been others?” She asks you whilst you are painting your toenails on the sofa one afternoon.

Not this again. You know what she’s talking about. Other people. Other women, specifically. She’s fascinated by your past still, but now she no longer wants to solve the puzzle of why you killed. Now it’s the little details, it’s about whether you had any friends in Paris? What music do you like? Where is the most interesting place you’ve travelled? Do you like TV? Do you like museums? 

This is now her new focus; other men, other women. Either. Both sometimes. Have you ever lived with anyone? What do you like to do on dates? What’s the longest relationship you’ve had?

She knows of Anna and Nadia but she wants more. She always wants more.

As you are feeling a bit bored of the whole subject you decide to be churlish. You focus on the toe next to the little one, you crane over yourself to get a better view and choose a suitably disinterested response.

“Well, since we’ve known each other I’ve probably fucked ten or so women and called them all Eve”

Something hits the back of your neck and you turn round to see her sitting at the table eating a pot of edamame beams, presumably that’s what she threw. She looks amused.

“What?” You ask and turn back round.

“Is it weird that I’m a bit flattered?”

That you didn’t expect. 

“No. Yes. Do you really want to use me as a guide for what’s considered weird or not?”

She laughs again.

“Probably not.”

“You should be flattered, I think. A lot of women had a lot of orgasms because of you.”

She doesn’t respond and you think you’ve succeeded in putting an end to this conversation. 

You return to your toes. Is your little toe a weird shape? You look at it. It’s not perfectly straight. Should it be? You’ve not spent a great deal of time looking at little toes in the past. Your left one is the same. Huh.

“Eve? Come over here and let me look at your toes.”

Another edamame bean, it bounces off the top of your head this time. 

“No. Don’t be gross”

“How is that gross? You let me look at other parts of you happily enough.”

“You’re trying to distract me, I just want to know about other people in your life, it’s not a ridiculous thing to want to know about someone. This is part of it you know, actually getting to know each other”

You consider that for a moment and find her comment stings a little, though you doubt she means it to.

“You know me already”   
  


”Yes, I do, but I also want to know about your life too, before everything”

You sigh. It’s not ridiculous you concede to yourself but it is ..... annoying. It’s annoying because apart from Anna, there is no one of significance and what you had with Anna can’t really be compared to this. Hushed words in empty classrooms, rushed sex whilst her husband was out, and even the good parts were drenched in her seemingly never-ending well of shame.

Eve doesn’t want that anyway. She’s sifted through all the trauma and what she wants now are stories of you in Paris walking along the river with some girl or other. Maybe a story about how you did cookery classes together and you licked icing off the tip of her nose.

A thought claws at the back of your mind, she always wants more. More of you. So what happens when eventually there’s nothing more for you to give her? Her attention is caught by puzzles, so what when she knows it all? When she realises that much of your life has been spent .... alone and bored, alone and boring. This is a thought that sits perpetually at the edges of...everything. Sometimes you are less successful than others at pushing it down.

You consider giving her what she thinks she wants, but you promised her that she could have you, not a version of you that suits you in that moment, soon to be discarded when no longer useful. Her mistake probably, a cute little anecdote would be much more interesting.

Urgh. Honesty is so often the least convenient option. Your new found semi moral code hasn’t quite extended as far as honesty being the best policy. But you did promise. You want something real from her and so often the cost seems to be offering up something real of yours.

What’s real of course is that you like being the more experienced one, you like the occasions that she defers to you for guidance. Although admittedly the frequency is decreasing. 

Is this hard enough? Can I touch you like this? Does this feel good? 

It.....it gives you some control over a situation where you have almost none. 

The truth is that this is the first time, the first time you have had to find a way to balance your life against another person’s. She’s done that for years before that evening in the bathroom of course, you think of the moustache and shudder. She knows how to do that, you don’t, and you don’t like it. You’re the one who leads. That’s what you know how to do.   
  


She interrupts you. 

“It’s not that big a deal, just the last date you went on, not the last person you fucked, the last date date, what did you do?”

“I broke into a woman’s house, I soaked her in the tub and ate her husbands left over shepherds pie”

She gives you a look.

You think of that Spanish boy dead in the hallway. Less cute than the made up icing nose lick.

Urgh. Here goes.

“I don’t....I don’t really date, I guess.... there was a boy in Paris, we went for a walk along the river and then he died after smelling the perfume I used to kill the asthmatic woman in the bathroom. The woman I married, I didn’t really date, not really, ....I ...fucked her in the airport after Rome and ....” you trail off.

There’s silence. 

Oh. 

Well fuck her. You’re suddenly furious. What did she expect? You grew up in a fucking prison and then spent the last few years killing for money. Not a lot of room for holding hands and strolling along beaches or through moonlit parks or whatever bullshit normal people do. 

The silence continues to stretch. 

Whatever. You go back to your toes.

The sofa dips next to you as she sits.

“I sometimes forget that life hasn’t been exactly kind to you.”

Oh great. Pity. You’re furious again.

“Fuck you. I’ve had a great life. I’ve travelled to almost everywhere I’ve wanted to go. I could see anything I wanted, do anything I wanted, do any one that I wanted. Maybe I didn’t want to spend decades of my life being slowly suffocated by another person.” 

She blinks. You look away.

Fuck. That wasn’t quite what you meant to happen.

She’s looking at you with her focused face. Not often a good sign outside of bed.  She’s not slapped you, you suppose. That’s got to be a good sign.

“Ok, so you’ve not dated a lot. That’s ok”

“Thanks for your approval”, you snap at her.

“Would you like to?”

“What?”

“Date”

You’re confused.

“Do I want to date?”

“Yes”

This conversation has gotten away from you a bit.

“Date who?”

“Me, you idiot”

“We live together”

“Yes”

“We’re already fucking”

She laughs. “Yes”

“So then why...?”

She smiles.

“Oksana, would you like to go out for a drink with me?”

You want to find this patronising. You want to be angry and lash out again. 

But...actually it’s sort of .....nice. It’s sickly sweet and embarrassing and silly. But it’s ...nice. 

Everything between you has been backwards anyway. So why not have your first date now, after everything.

“You want to go on a date with me?”, your voice is more soft and unsure than you’d like but it’s out there now so you choose not to dwell.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I love you, stupid, and you’ve not had the opportunity to do a lot of normal things which is fine, obviously, but maybe some normal things would be stuff you’d actually like”

“Like dating”

“Yes, if you like”

“Ok”

“Ok?”

“Ok, yes. I’ll go for a drink with you”

She grins. 

So do you. 

Shes good at this you realise. Drawing you from an argument without either of you losing your positions. Thats the experience you lack. Who knows maybe you are a moonlit strolls in the park kind of person. Maybe not. But you’re suddenly really excited to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: The only acceptable reason to waste edamame beans? Flicking them at Villanelle, of course.


	2. Dating

You are excellent at dating. You had a suspicion that you would be and you were right.

It’s been fun. You were fun. She was fun. No one has died. Or been shot, or stabbed and its been fun. It was also excellent after the first time when you got home and she had you against the door before you’d had the chance to take off your coat. Excellent.

You think of the list you made of normal things to try together. Going to the beach. Going to Wales. Visiting the zoo. Oh! Ice skating at Christmas, that’s a good one. You stop stirring the pot in front of you to grab your pad to scribble that down and underline it.

But tonight you’ve got something special planned. A third date. Ok, so you’ve actually been out for drinks four or five times since she brought it up and you had sex after every time. Also, all the times in between. But that isn’t the point.  


The point is that you’ve never been able to plan an evening where you both know the goal is to get her into bed. Well. The goal of most of your actions is now to get her into bed. Also, possibly, the goal of most of your actions before was getting her into bed. Not the point. 

Regardless of all your previous plans and hopes you acknowledge that its probably more by luck than judgment that you somehow found yourself in a position where she chose you at all. You leave that darkening thought aside, tonight you do have a plan and it’s going to be excellent.

You look devastating. You’ve spent days inSussex wine cellars over the last few weeks trying to find this exact bottle. The food will be perfect. You’ve got candles and a playlist and everything will be excellent. Then after that she is going to come like she never has before. You are going to be excellent at third dates, you can already tell.

The door slams and there’s some banging in the hallway. Eve walks straight through the living room into the bedroom and doesn’t spare you or your devastating outfit a glance.  


Huh. Well that was rude and a little underwhelming.

“Hi? Eve?”

No response. 

“Hello?”

You take the pan off the hob and follow her into the bedroom. She’s sat at her desk looking at a file, her coat is still on. 

“I’ve got dinner almost ready....”

“Oh, yeah, hi, I’ll be out in a minute “

Ok. Not one to be deterred you go back out to the kitchen. The food is done so you serve it up on the smart plates you ordered last week and have been hiding in a cupboard. You wait five minutes. 

“Eve?”

“Just a minute. I’m coming”

Well. Rude and underwhelming it continues to be.

She comes out in an oversized t shirt and leggings. Hair up. Still carrying the file.  


You frown.

“Everything ok?”

“Hmm? Yes. No.” She’s still not really looking at you at all. 

“It’s just.... look at this” She pushes the file toward you across the table. Crime scene photographs, blood, bone and brain matter. Also excellent but not quite what you had in mind. 

Hmm. Well this is interesting. You turn one of the photos round to look more closely. The flesh has been torn so brutally but beneath that there is a single cut straight along the surface of bone. How elegant in amongst all this carnage.

“Why have you stopped on that one?”

You glance up at her and this must be the first time tonight you’ve had her full attention.

“You see this cut, this single cut? This was painstakingly done. It takes real strength and skill to cut bone this precisely. All the rest of this violence is a side show. This is what mattered, this is what they tried to hide. If it was me....”

You pause to gauge her face. You’ve been so good for weeks now, and you worry that by opening up this dark well inside yourself, you won’t be able to close it again and then this will all fall apart.   
  


But she looks ....captivated ...by what you’re going to say. Maybe you do let yourself go a bit, maybe you will be able to turn it all off again and she’s so sexy when she’s like this. You want that look focused on you for as long as possible, whatever comes next.

You let your voice drop low,  ”If it was me? I wouldn’t hide this. Obviously. I always wanted you to see how good I was. I always love showing off for you.....”

She licks her lips. God.

“But...”

You change tack, back away from your deliberate attempt to provoke her. Your voice returning to its normal volume and tone.

“If I had to hide... this is what I’d do too.  Make such a mess everywhere else that the significant thing is lost. This person thinks they are an artist but they are hiding and so they want you to see a thug.”

“You’re so fucking sexy”

You laugh.

Then it’s like she suddenly sees you for the first time tonight.

“Why are you wearing....? What is all....this?”

She waves a bemused hand around. Then her face drops.

“Oh no, god. This is a date. Oh my god, you’ve done all this and I’m in leggings. Oh my god I’m sorry, I’m such a dick”

You laugh again, surprised by how genuine your amusement is. Then a thought slips into your mind. Oh no.

“I’m the moustache”

“Sorry?”

Flowers and candles and fancy plates and playlists? You’ve planned the date her ex husband would have done. 

  
Well this is fucking mortifying. 

She wants leggings and crime scene photos and probably for you to go down on her with them scattered around you because she’s weird and ghoulish and perfect.

“Nothing. Just, bring the file I’ll get the wine and food. Go sit on the sofa”

When you go back with the food and wine you can tell she’s tried to make what efforts she could. Her hair is down like she’s run her fingers through it a few times and she’s looking embarrassed. It’s cute you decide.

“I really am sorry”

You put the bottle and plates down on the floor. You kneel on the floor in between her legs as she sits on the sofa.

“Why? I got this all wrong. I want things that are normal for us, not normal for anyone else. So..”

You pause for effect, run your hands slowly up her thighs.

“Do you want me to fuck you now or after we go through all these pictures?”

She looks .... touched. Like you’ve done something impossibly sweet. Perhaps you have. Luck over judgement again.

“After?”

You smile at her.

“Excellent.”


	3. Arguing

This is fine. 

The bedroom is large and airy, same as the adjacent salon, both with high ceilings and the view is of a park. The lighting above the vanity unit could be better, and the padding to the chaise you are sitting on has sagged slightly with age but overall this is fine.

You’ve been here three nights now. Which is also fine. Better being fine here than being banished to the other room like a child. You’re gripping your eyeliner too tightly and it smudges at the corner. You close your eyes and breath in slowly. This is fine. You correct the smudge and begin again.

She is such an asshole. 

It’s not like you even did anything. Not really. No one is dead or even hurt or whatever. You meant what you said about being done with it. It’s just that sometimes....you get bored. She’s at work or she’s out with friends and you are... just there....and it’s all excellent when you’re with her, but when you aren’t....you get bored. 

You tried other things before resorting to this, of course you did. Even you concede that going from nothing to ..... this ....would be a little much. You tried crosswords. You tried joining a book club. You tried a course on topiary at an agricultural college an hour outside of London.

But crosswords are too easy, the books they chose too trite and the flat doesn’t have a garden let alone a series of hedges ripe for pruning. So nothing worked.

Not until one day when a cyclist almost knocked you over in the street, then turned round to flip you off when you shouted at them. It was just natural to follow them. To find where they worked. To get a sense of their routine. To plan what you’d do and how you’d do it. 

You don’t actually do any of it. It’s just a consideration of what you might do.

Ok, there’s no crescendo to just the planning of it but there’s also no beckoning void to fall into afterwards. So this is the best of both worlds, right? You get 60% of your fun job back, minus the more problematic elements. Eve gets a girlfriend who isn’t teetering on the edge of a breakdown. So what’s the issue? Win, win.

It was fun. You weren’t bored. So you did it again. You picked someone more interesting the next time. Then you picked someone more challenging. Then you started to pick at random. Surely more fun if you know absolutely nothing about them. More chance you’ll be surprised.

Ok so maybe on a couple of occasions you’ve wobbled on the edge, but you’ve always pulled back so what does it matter. It’s just a game. Really. Its fine.

You kept notes. Obviously. Being an international contract killer does not come without its fair share of admin. Surely Eve of all people can understand that. That’s not weird. Well. It’s not any more weird than playing pretend killer whilst your girlfriend is at work chasing real ones.

God she is such an asshole. 

She took it badly and thats a kind interpretation. 

You came home to find it all spread out over the kitchen table one evening. All the photos of all your “targets”. Their routines, the weapons you chose, building schematics, everything. 

Ok, spread out like that, you admit it looked bad. But it wasn’t bad, not really. She was furious when she thought you’d been killing again but when you explained it wasn’t real and no one had been hurt it seemed to make it all worse.

She cried. 

That was unexpected. 

You figured she might be pissed off if she found out, that’s why you hid it from her after all. But she cried. 

Then she dumped some pillows and a duvet on the sofa and shut the bedroom door.

Well, fuck her. You are fine. This hotel is fine. The hotel food is fine and the wine is....hit and miss. But overall, it is fine.

You stare at your reflection. 

“Beautiful” you observe. 

You head down to the bar and make a reservation at the restaurant.

Maybe you’ll fuck someone tonight. A blonde. A redhead. Both. You won’t call either of them Eve. Maybe you’ll kill them afterwards. That would show her. Show her what you’re really capable of, show her that a little harmless fun whilst she’s at work isn’t a big deal. 

You watch the people around you. Elegant women pass through and one or two catch your eye. But you go off the idea suddenly. You don’t probe too hard over why. It’s been the same every night you’ve been here.

You finish dinner and go back to the room. You lay on the bed and try to fuck your self. You aren’t in the mood and it doesn’t really go anywhere.

God.

You just feel sad. 

Your phone vibrates. There is a message.

  * Can you let me know whether you are alright.



Huh. You didn’t expect that she’d be the first to crack. At least not this soon.

You don’t know how to respond. Are you alright? No. Do you want to tell her that? No. Yes?

Urgh. 

  * I’m safe



There. That’s fine. Clear but not too revealing. Fine.

You delete it and start again.

  * I’m sad and angry and I want to see you 



Not particularly clear and very revealing.

You hesitate. You send it. 

You drum your fingers on the back of your phone as it sits on your chest.

It vibrates again. You don’t know if you want to look but you do look because you never had any self control, not about real things anyway. Not with things that matter

  * where are you?



You tell her and you wait. You aren’t really sure what you want to say to her. You aren’t sorry. Not really. Not about your little game. Maybe a bit sorry for leaving without telling her. Maybe. You don’t think she’ll apologise either. You’ve never known her to before. Well. You’ve not really fought like this, not since everything on the bridge. Everything has been so good until now. So you don’t know what to expect. 

It’s late and you are tired. 

There’s a knock. You open the door and she’s there. You step back to let her in.

“Nice hotel”

“It’s fine”

She seems a bit unsure of what to do to now she’s actually here. Theres nothing else obvious in her expression. There are no clues from her outfit that would let you read her intentions either. Wool, more wool and a parka over the top? You can’t wait to see how her love of all things knit will transition into a summer wardrobe. 

“Look...” she starts and stops. 

Then starts again. “It’s late and I’m tired and I don’t want to get into all this now I just....I was worried and I wanted to see you. So could we just ...go to bed and deal with it in the morning?”

You aren’t sure what you are meant to say. There’s a saying about not sleeping before resolving an argument or something? But you’re really tired and she’s here and there’s a bed....

“Sure.”

You climb in. She turns her back to undress. You tut impatiently and that earns you a look. She climbs in and neither of you move. This is bullshit. You roll onto your side, reach out and pull her back tightly against your front. Shes quiet but doesn’t resist. You press a kiss to her shoulder. She reaches for and grips your hand, holds it tight against her stomach.

“Goodnight”

And surprisingly this is ...actually..fine. 

Probably. 


	4. Making up

You wake as normal to find yourself engulfed in a sea of hair. You never really understand how that happens, she goes to sleep with it up so either it’s got a life of it’s own or your subconscious has you taking it down whilst you both sleep. 

Neither would surprise you. 

You run a sleepy hand down her side and she shifts closer into you. You touch her gently without any real intent. Unsure as to what is allowed whilst you are....arguing? Fighting? Whatever is going on. 

You feel when she wakes, a momentary stiffness in her limbs before relaxing back into you. You press kisses along her shoulder and the back of her neck. Then there is a hand guiding yours beneath her underwear and .... oh god.

Is this ok? It’s this what people do? You’re both angry with each other so ..... is this angry sex? Taking out all your frustrations on each other and using this act to do it?

You’ve fucked people when you were angry before but it wasn’t like this. Soft encouraging hands and quiet breathy sighs. You don’t really understand what is happening.

She’s is wet, really wet. You are turned on and confused and you don’t know what to do. You keep going, she’s rocking into your hand now. She’s not talking to you which is odd. Normally you can’t get her to shut up in bed. Not that you’ve ever made a significant effort to stop her. It’s hot after all.  


But this doesn’t feel right. 

“Eve? Wait, wait. Is this....is this ok?”

She stops moving against you and tilts her head up and back to look at you. She swallows and must see something in your expression as her face softens a bit.

“Yeah. I just....Ive missed you”

You don’t really know what to say to that. 

“Aren’t we....aren’t we having an argument?”

“I don’t know if we’re having an argument, we need to talk but...I just....”

She gently shifts away from your hand and turns to face you.

“I just...I’ve missed you and now you’re here and your skin and your hands and your hair and....I just wanted....this. You.”

In any normal circumstances you’d be incredibly pleased by her admission. As things stand you are even more confused. 

“Do you want me to....finish?”

Her lips quirk into a smile. “Yes? But we probably shouldn’t now.”

You nod and turn onto your back.

“You’re still angry with me then.”

“Oh god I don’t know”

“I’m not going to hurt anyone again. I don’t even really want to. I’m just ..... bored.”

The silence stretches. You turn to see her wipe a tear from her face. You feel sick.

“I’m not bored with you.” You rush out. “You are ....everything. Obviously. But I don’t want to just sit around all day waiting for you.”

“I never asked you to” she snaps. 

You sigh. This isn’t going very well. Is it too late to go back to the weirdly soft angry sex? Probably.

“No. I know. I just I thought this would be a good way to....keep busy”

“You stalk and fantasise about killing people to keep busy?” 

Then you are furious with her suddenly. How fucking unfair of her considering...everything. 

“What? You don’t like that about me now? You are such a hypocrite, nothing about me turns you on more than that part.”

“That’s not true”

“Yes it is. And that’s fine because that is part of me and it always will be but don’t pretend now you are too saintly for it. I bet you were dripping for me when you found it all. All the pictures, all the plans.”

Your voice is raised and you don’t like it. You don’t want to be angry and out of control. You meant what you said that you don’t want to hurt anyone again but that doesn’t mean you entirelytrust yourself not to.  


You don’t want this to be another Rome.

She looks shocked and embarrassed and you know you’ve struck a nerve. You just aren’t sure that you really wanted to.

She turns away then, to stare at the ceiling.

”You’re a real asshole.”

You exhale impatiently but she starts again before you have a chance to respond.

“I’m not angry at what you were doing. Not really. I’m angry that you were struggling and instead of talking about it you started all this in secret and cut me out. Mostly I’m just scared that if I hadn’t found out that one day the thrill of the chase wouldn’t be enough and you’d follow through on it. I don’t want you to lose yourself again”

You think about that. In that light what seemed like sanctimonious bullshit now looks like love and concern.

“I’m not going to act on it. I promise”

You hear her sigh.

“I believe that you mean that. I just think you are putting yourself in position where it’s too easy to fail. 

I get what you like about the chase. Obviously, I’ve been chasing you long enough now. But it’s that you hid it that scares me. You can trust me to help you with things. That’s the whole point of this.”

Honestly it hadn’t even occurred to you that you tell her how bored you were, or how close to crossing the line you had been finding yourself. You don’t think that would be a helpful revelation at the moment.

“I’ll just stop doing it. That will be fine. Then we can just go back to...”

She interrupts you, “being bored?”

You shrug, or at least the closest approximation of one that you can do whilst laying on your back.

“Let me talk to Carolyn. Your insight on the files I’ve brought home has been .... really helpful.”

“You want me to play Dr Lector? That’s kind of hot actually”

“Shut up.” You think she says it fondly.

”I just think it might give you some focus, keep you from boredom.”

“Ok”

You’re both quiet again.

“If I do this for you, I need you to start being honest with me. You’re right I do know what you are, I know what you’ve done. I’m still here. You can’t scare me off. Just don’t shut me out, if you need help I’m here.”

You nod. You can’t find the right words to respond, so you settle on lacing your fingers together with hers. 

She’s quiet for a time. 

“Also, if you’re going to flounce off don’t make we worry about where you are.”

“Flounce?”

“Ummm, it’s like going off in a snit?”

You must look blank again.

“A huff?”

“Why are you making up words?”

“I’m not. Just, don’t make me worry about you like that again”

“Ok. Sorry”

More silence.

“It’s really weird that you call him Dr Lector, you say it with such reverence”

“He didn’t spend ten years studying to be called Hannibal by the likes of us. Besides everyone has to have heroes”

She’s laughs lightly. “You’re so weird”

“Oh come on, killing a terrible flutist because they are ruining the symphony is cool. Feeding him to the rest of the orchestra? Even cooler.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.”

“So we are both weird”

“Looks like”

“I am sorry, really.” You’re surprised to find you mean it.

“Yeah me too.”

She’s quiet again but it’s not the same thick silence as earlier.

“Soooo...” she stretches out the word.

“Do you want to go back to the sex now?”

You feel a grin pull across your face. 

“Absolutely”


	5. Work

Working in the same office as the person you are fucking isn’t as sexy as you imagined. You thought it would be a lot of heated looks and barely there touches before it all spills over and she fucks you against a photocopier or something. It isn’t. It really really isn’t.

It turns out to be a lot of listening to other people talk and watching her pay attention to people that aren’t you. You can’t believe she thought that this would be a good alternative to pretend killing people.

The people they are searching for are no where near as interesting as you. 

You spin on your chair, round and round and round.

“Do you want me to kill someone so that we have something interesting to do?” 

You say it just loudly enough to make the guy who makes surprisingly reasonable coffee raise his eyebrows and shift, while avoiding meeting your eye at all costs. 

That has been fun you admit. Everyone seems to be very nervous of you so that’s offered up quite a few good opportunities to have some fun.

“Villanelle” Eve says it with a warning in her voice.

“Yes boss”

She gives you a look which you match. She looks away first. Small victories.

You spin on your chair again. You check the time, it’s 1015. Urgh.

You consider slipping out and buying a magazine so that you can flip through the pages obnoxiously loudly. 

Then there is a flurry of activity when Carolyn arrives. New information, bank records, something about a dog groomer? Whatever. They never let you out of the office any way.  


This happens from time to time, a ‘breakthrough’ and Eve is up and issuing directives and people respond and buzz around her before being dispatched off to different tasks. You just sit and wait for them to come back. Fun.

Being strictly fair you have enjoyed that at least. Watching her take control, acting with such authority, then watching other people do her bidding, treating her like the boss. That’s been...hot. 

But everything else? Not so much. 

You lean your head back as far as you can against your chair and yawn loudly. She’s upside down like this but you see her stop at the door. There’s a face. Urgh. You suspect you are going to be told off again. 

“Aren’t you coming?”

You’re somewhat embarrassed by how quickly you’re up and following her. You don’t trip over your own feet so you suppose it could be worse.

You’re in the car when you speak next. 

“You’re better at this now”

She takes her eyes off the road to look at you briefly.

“What?”

“This. Being the kill commander.”

She pulls a face but says nothing. She can be like this you’ve noticed, shy when you compliment something that matters to her.

“Before you were too panicked. You held on to everything too tightly. I didn’t think you had the nose for it, to know when to let a situation breath and when to act. You aren’t like that now. It’s nice.”

She bristles a little at that.

“You’re terrible at compliments”

“No I’m not”

She hums in acknowledgment but says nothing.

The car pulls up to the kerb and you guess the intention is to sit and wait. She’s very ...serious. Very focused.

“It was your fault”

“What was?”

“The way I was then. In Rome, before Rome, all of it.”

This is still a sore subject and you’ve learnt that it’s better to just be quiet and let her speak about it. 

“It was all too....important. You...were too important. If I couldn’t let go, it was that I couldn’t let go of you”

“You didn’t trust me not to fuck it up.”

She laughs. “Probably.”

Well, that’s a little disappointing.

“Your compliments aren’t much better.”

A smile dances across her face.

“I guess not. Your ego can take it”

You sit back in your seat.

“I did mean it as a compliment though”, you say this quietly.

She stares straight ahead but answers you anyway.

“So did I”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: The first paragraph? A disappointingly true story.


	6. Trust (i) The Weird

She’s being weird.

Not the usual sort of weird. A more specific weird that you aren’t able to exactly articulate.

It’s been since you started “consulting” for Carolyn. You can narrow it down that much. Although that doesn’t make much sense as it was all her idea so she can’t really be annoyed about that.

After the big fight things were good again but now it’s different. You’re well practised at reading people, on the surface level at least, but with her the surface level is normal and it’s something beneath which is weird.

You considered asking when the weird first started but decided to wait to see if it went away on its own. But the weird continued. You’re pretty sure that asking now would push the weird deeper and then you’d never know, so now you just exist; you, Eve and the weird.

When you pictured your life after she chose you, you sort of imagined the fun and excitement of the first few weeks but just more of that, years of it, forever even, just with ....slivering hair and walking sticks and other old people stuff, lavender scented pillows and such.

You aren’t an idiot you guessed that there might be a few....adult type serious issues...but mostly you pictured lots of sex and lots of fun cute stuff.

Sex you know you are good at, cute couple things you’ve discovered you’re good at, but you are out of your depth in terms of deciphering the root of this sudden change in atmosphere.

She’s weird in the office, you sit in briefings about the next monster of the week and you feel her eyes burning into your back. Definitely not in a sexy way. A quickly rebuffed hand on her thigh part way through one such briefing confirmed that.

She’s weird at home, she’s stopped asking you questions. You used to barely get through a meal without finding that she’s coaxed some truth from your past that you assumed forgotten. But she’s stopped asking questions in the same way. It’s not like she’s stopped talking to you, nothing explicitly different like that, it’s just not quite the same type of talking.

The tube pulls up to the platform disturbing you from your thoughts and you move to get off. At the last moment you realise that you’ve left your scarf and you quickly slip back in before the doors slam shut. You reach the seat where you were sitting and glance out the window to see that she’s standing there on the platform as the train pulls out.

More weird.

There’s no reason for her to be on this train, no reason for her to be at this station. There’s a few shops, lots of houses, a pub near the station, an excellent salon responsible for your immaculate eye brows, and a Co-op but not a lot else. Not a lot else which would prompt someone to get off specifically here.

You sit back in your original seat and watch the houses disappear into the underground. She’s following you. That’s the only explanation which makes even some sense.

Alternate reasons that she might be at Parsons Green station; as part of a cute surprise, to find the excellent salon, to have an average but expensive pub lunch? You can’t come up with anything else.

But together with the weird in the background it doesn’t feel like a cute surprise, you’d have happily told her where the salon was and there is average but expensive food pretty much everywhere.

She’s following you to see what you are doing. It’s the only explanation.

Why didn’t she just ask where you were going?

Well, being entirely fair she did ask you to mark important dates in the calendar and instead you responded by populating it with the dates of big historical events. But honestly what did she expect?

Anyway, not the point.

She’s following you to see what you are doing.

Reasons that she would follow you rather than ask; because she misses the thrill of chasing you, because she thinks you’d lie if she asked you.

Huh. Well it could be the former, but surely that would be more fun if you knew about it and had the opportunity to present more of a challenge. But the latter....

Why would you lie? Or why would she think you’d lie?

It’s this type of question that you struggle with. You wouldn’t lie about where you were going, obviously. But there’s a bridge between you knowing that, and what someone else would understand from that same set of facts. It’s a bridge you’ve always struggled with. Psychopath, low empathy blah blah. You know all the reasons but knowing that never helps you make that final connection.

You turn the question around a few times. What could you be doing that Eve would think you’d need to lie about? Planning a surprise for her, killing people again....possibly fucking someone else?

A cute surprise? You doubt it, when is it ever a nice easy answer like that for you.

You sigh. She knows you aren’t killing people again. You told her you weren’t. That was the whole point of the big fight so that’s been settled.

Fucking someone else? Clearly that is ridiculous. You happily gave up all of the easy and cool parts of your life in order to fuck her so now you actually do get to fuck her, why would you want someone else?

Whether it’s fucking or killing that she thinks you’re up to the bald truth of it is she doesn’t trust you, and that is a shitty revelation to come to whilst sitting on a now cramped tube carriage.

Why wouldn’t she trust you? You’ve mostly been honest with her. Mostly. The odd lie by omission obviously, but do they even count?

She’s insecure? Maybe. Lots of other women, and men, would definitely fuck you. You wouldn’t fuck them but maybe Eve doesn’t know that? You consider texting her something dirty so she knows that it’s her that you want to have sex with, but really you aren’t in the mood.

Then it goes as it always does with you, you’re sad, then you’re angry, then you’ll just go back to sad again.

Then your phone vibrates.

  * come home, I need to talk to you



Well.

If nothing else this ought to clear out the weirdness. You can convince her that she is the only person you want and then you can go back to being cute and smiley with each other. Maybe this is a good thing.

You get off at the next stop but find your diverted attention has left you on the opposite side of town. How annoying. You cross to the other side and prepare for the journey back. In rush hour. Without a seat. And having missed your eyebrow appointment.

How extremely annoying.


	7. Trust (ii) The same

The journey was annoying.   


It started to rain the second you stepped out of the station. Also annoying. Then you walked most of the way to the flat behind a group of smokers. Disgusting and annoying.  So when you reach the front door you’re not exactly in the best mood to spend the evening flattering her ego. But you want the weirdness gone so you’ll get on with it like a trooper.

You open the door and she’s sitting at the table. Like a teacher ready to scold.   


Every second is pushing you further from your elaborate and thoughtful plans to convince her that she forever holds your attention.

“Sit down”

You feel something cold creep up your spine. You take your time taking off your coat and scarf. You walk toward the table where she’s holding a file. 

“I’m going to change-“

“No, sit down”

You don’t. You go into the bedroom and look through your cupboard. You don’t change but you take your time regardless.

You return to the table, she clearly intends for you to sit opposite with the table between you. You sit next to her, put your arm casually on the table and offer up what you hope is a smug gesture of ‘what now?’.

She’s furious. You’re pleased.

She presents you with a file. Its full of you. Photos of you around London, receipts and phone records.

“You’ve lied to me”

You really don’t know how to respond. These are photos of you around town, these are receipts from places you been, meals you’ve had, phone records which you guess must be yours. It’s what she has drawn from all this that you are missing.

She speaks to break your focus on the photos and papers.

“You’re working again”

You look up. She’s angry and hurt but you see something else flash in her expression, just for a moment.

Triumph.

She’s pleased with herself. Pleased that she’s caught you out? Pleased thats she’s supposedly won this game you didn’t know existed? Pleased that she was right and you couldn’t be better after all?

You have absolutely no idea what to do. No idea what to say. Why should you have to prove your innocence? Why should you have to beg and plead with her? This time you haven’t actually done anything.  


This time? Is this the same argument as before? It’s something you know people do to each other, fight about the same thing in ever new and inventive ways, but ultimately it’s always the same. How disappointing to find yourselves one of those couples. Why does the thing you fight about have to be this? Why is it something that always puts you at a disadvantage?

“Say something” she demands.

You laugh. “Like what?”

“Anything!” She’s raising her voice now.

The cold thing creeping up your spine takes hold.

You run a casual hand across your mouth and make a gesture of nothing.

“What is this? Photos of me going about my day? Receipts for breakfast? A log of my phone calls? I don’t see any bodies, I don’t see any blood. The truth is that you only found me before because I left you breadcrumbs. If I was working again you’d never know it, not if I didn’t want you to”

There’s a flicker of doubt in her expression. You don’t care.

“Whatever shit you’ve come up with to make your life interesting again is nothing to do with me.”

“You saw me following you today and tried to lose me”

You laugh again, but there is no warmth in it. 

“I left my scarf on the tube and went back to get it. The doors closed and I saw you standing on the platform.”

The flicker of doubt is back on her face but coldness in you is turning into something else. Your throat closes up in panic. You have to be very careful here not to do anything....extreme. 

You have to leave.

You get up. You go to the bedroom, you take a deliberately long time folding and packing some clothes. You go back to the table.

“I’m going to a hotel. Don’t text me and don’t follow me. I don’t want to talk to you at the moment.”

She’s looking at the file again but then she looks at you, stands as if to come toward you.

You step back and put your hand up to stop her. “Stop. Don’t. Please. I’ll .... i'll be fine. I just need to go”

She looks ashen. You try not to care.

You turn and leave.


	8. Trust (iii) The Grown Up

So here you are again.

It’s been a week. A week of sitting in the hotel room and turning this problem over in your mind. You don’t really understand how normal smiley cute coupley things went back to you alone in a hotel room so quickly.

This hotel isn’t really fine. This situation isn’t really fine. 

She’s text you a few times since you left. She’s sorry she says. She made a mistake she’s concluded. Perhaps this is your equivalent to the compliment and BJ offered to her ex husband.  


She’ll make the moustache of you yet.

You’ve not responded, obviously. You needed to calm down before you speak to her again. 

Does she want you to be a monster after all? Well if that’s what she wants you are not going to give her the satisfaction. So you’ve been here a week, working on pushing down the urge to hurt and destroy. You’re mostly feeling level now. Mostly.

The first few days you drank. The day after you considered killing someone. The next day you considered fucking someone. But you found just like the last time that you don’t really want to. 

You just want this situation to go away. You want to be at home painting your nails, or watching a movie or going to Waitrose.

It turns out that you do actually like normal stuff. It’s her that doesn’t and knowing that makes you sad all day.

Your phone vibrates with a message.

  * I know where you are. I’m not coming to find you because you said you wanted space, I just wanted you to know that I’m doing that 



Hmm. It occurs to you then that this is a new situation for you. You aren’t the one who fucked up, and it’s for her to fix this. 

You feel a measure of anxiety about that. What if she can’t? What if she doesn’t find the right combination of words to convince you that you can go back to before. 

Letting her try and fail would at least move you on from this sitting around feeling sad phase. If she can’t fix this then you can at least pack up all the memories from the last few months and put them in a box toward the back of your mind. You can go and find something easier again. 

Or maybe she will do it. Maybe she’ll fix this. Maybe you’ll get exactly what you want. Maybe someone will give you exactly what you need from them without you having to take it for yourself. First time for everything you suppose.

Maybe you could....help her. Help her get this right. Help her fix this. That’s a good idea. 

So the first thing is to get her over here to speak to you. She can hardly convince you if she isn’t here. 

That does present a logistical issue. There is a legitimate risk that if this doesn’t go the way you want that you will ……crack. Again. 

You stew on that thought for a while. You want to be able to say that you love her so of course you won’t hurt her, but that’s never been a truth that you can rely on. 

Ok, so you need an easy escape. Just in case. You decide you’ll leave again if its heading that way. Leave for good. So you choose your outfit for this. Confident but not ostentatious. Ok, not too ostentatious. You reapply, then put away your make up. Then you pack your bag and put it by the door.

Good. If you need to get out now you can. Perfect. You’re much less likely to accidentally stab her if you aren’t trying to cope with packing at the same time as your life falling apart around you.

You sit on the bed and breath deliberately slowly for a few seconds. You pick up your phone.




You don’t know where to start. 

  * You can come and see me if you like



That will do, you decide and you send it.

The response is pretty instant.

  * Really? Can I come now? I can leave work now and be with you in 30 mins?



Huh. You forgot about her job. You forgot about your job. Were you supposed to tell Carolyn that you weren’t coming into the office this week? You definitely haven’t. Whoops. 

  * Sure. 



So now you wait. You wonder if this will be like last time and you will have a cuddle before getting to anything more serious. It appeals on the one hand, but there’s also part of you which is still too angry to tolerate anything that gentle.

You consider your options if this doesn’t end the way you hope. You could move to .... South America somewhere? Or Florence? Or Dudley? You’ve got a lot of options.  


You’re fun. You’re beautiful. You’ve got money. You’ve got a life ahead of you even if it isn’t this one. You’ll be fine. That life will be less than this one, but it will be alright. You will be alright. You don’t know when it was that you last genuinely believed that there was life outside of her, but there is. Even if it’s not what you want. You’ll be fine. You are always fine. 

There’s a knock at the door. You feel sick.  


Just get on with it.

You open the door and you’re surprised to see that that she looks....different. She’s dressed up for this you realise. Is that a good thing? You dressed up for it, of course, but you didn’t expect her to.

“Why are you wearing that?”, it’s out before you can stop yourself.

She tugs at the dress self consciously and you regret bringing it up.

“I just wanted to look nice....for you” 

“How did you know I’d agree to see you today?”

“I...didnt”

“You’ve been carrying this dress around with you on the chance I’d ask to see you?” You are genuinely interested.

“No!” A pause, then she rushes out; “I’ve been keeping it at work. Why are we talking about this?”

You raise your eyebrows and shrug before ushering her inside. 

Shes nervous. That’s obvious. Suddenly you’re back in her kitchen in her old house. You bristle at that. 

“I’m not going to hurt you”, you snap at her.

“No I know that” she says that with some certainty.

“You’re nervous”

“Well, yeah. I don’t want to fuck this up”

So don’t, you urge her silently.

You go and sit on the bed and wait.

She takes a breath. “I am, so so fucking sorry. I was a total asshole, and so fucking smug and I’m so sorry. You’ve done everything that I’ve asked I don’t know what’s wrong with me and ...” she’s running out of steam now, “I’m just really sorry”

You scrub a hand over your forehead. You already knew she was sorry about the whole poorly executed surveillance thing.

A dangerous thought flickers in the back of your mind. If all she has are apologies and those apologies aren’t enough to make this better then how is she going to fix this and make things go back to before? You want to help her find the answer but you aren't really sure what you need her to say.

”Ok. What else?”

“And I won’t assume the worse again. I’ll just talk to you rather than sneaking round?”

“But if you don’t trust me why would asking me make any difference?”

“I do trust you -“

“No you don’t”, you bite back at her.

This is getting into dangerous territory now. 

She doesn’t know what to say next, and you sense her rising panic. It’s something youve always found intoxicating in the past. The moment when someone realised that they are perilously close to being out of options. Seeing it on her now just makes you tired.

“Look. I don’t know whether it’s that you genuinely don’t trust me, or that you just don’t like me when I’m not killing people so you don’t want to trust me. Maybe I’m just too boring for you now. Maybe you only want me when you shouldn’t, and now I’m too safe for you to be interested in me.”

The words are out of your mouth and there are tears in your eyes and your throat feels impossibly tight. You realise that you meant every word and these thoughts were there all along, from the very start of all this, but you hadn’t been able to give them voice. Not even to yourself. 

She looks shocked.

“That’s not true. That’s absolutely not true. I love you, I do.”

You wave your hand dismissively, and wipe at your eyes. Then she’s in front of you and pulling you up and into a hug and it’s too much. You struggle with her half heartedly because there is nothing you want more than to be able to sink into her, for you to be able to believe this is real.

Then she’s speaking again; “I do love your darkness. You know that, and it’s taken me such a long time for me to know that too. But if all I wanted was darkness I’d want the Ghost or Dasha. You’re more than your darkness, and I love that too. I promise. I’m so sorry that I made you doubt it.”

You let yourself indulge in her softness and you feel the tears fall from your eyes and tickle your cheeks. She doesn’t say anything and just lets you cry. 

After a time you move away, turn your back to wipe at your eyes and try to school your features.

This is the moment you realise. You are the one to determine what happens next. You are in control of this situation. Before you’ve always blown in the wind of her somewhat changeable attitude to you, to this. But the future is now for you to decide. Weird.

You can hold on to this anger and hurt and you can go and start your new easy life in...Dudley or wherever. Or you can choose to believe her. You can accept that she fucked up and that she’s sorry and that this is all real after all, and you find that this is what you want to do. You’ve just needed her to do or say something that you can use as an excuse. You know what you want and you can decide to take it.

So you do.

You are quietly very pleased to find yourself in a position where you can play the grown up for once. You can magnanimously put aside your grievances to forgive. You are particularly pleased by how very mature you are. Perhaps not the right time to point this out to her but you can revel in it yourself for a moment or two.

“Ok”

“Ok?” She asks.

“Yes. Ok. I want you to be right about what you’re saying. I want to go home. So to get back to that I guess I have to just believe you. So I’m going to do that.”

“Oh”

“You’re surprised?”

“Well yes. You’re so angry and hurt and I guess I’ve never seen you ...be so forgiving..”

“You stabbed me and I fell in love with you? That’s pretty forgiving.”

She huffs our a laugh and sits down hard on the bed. “I guess this just felt worse...like it was harder to pull back from t han that. Plus you’ve already packed your bags to leave.” Her eyes flicker to the door.

  
You sit down on the bed next to her and press a kiss to her temple. “That was an insurance policy”

She turns to look up at you with a question in her eyes.

You offer a lazy shrug. “Just in case I was close to stabbing you and I needed to leave quickly”

She snorts out a laugh. 

“What happens now?”, you ask. 

“We go home and I try not to be a total dickhead again.”

“Ok”

“Just...” a pause.  “I just want to tell you that It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just sometimes find it hard to believe that you gave up all of it without a second thought”

“Who said it was without a second thought? I do miss parts of my old life. It was fun....sometimes. But I like this now. I like dates and movies and you. Normal stuff”

“You can be sickeningly sweet sometimes.”

She leans over and kisses you. 

“Only you would be pleased to come out ahead of murder.”

“Perhaps. Good thing you found me then”

You smile against her lips, and kiss her again.


	9. Compromise

It feels the same as it always did, as it always does. There is normal stuff like the excitement and the risk but there’s a layer of rapture to be found in holding power like this. When you hold such power over your target, their life, without them even realising it yet. You’ve always liked that part. It’s good too when they do suddenly realise but this part has always been a personal favourite of yours.

The street is busy which affords you a good opportunity to get close before you’re really ready to pounce.

In another life you’d have been quite content as a cat, hunting interspersed with someone lovingly scratching behind your ear. Sounds nice.

You let them move further ahead of you for a time and watch the back of their head weave through the crowd, letting yourself luxuriate in the familiar rush.

You glance at your watch. Urgh. Real life intervenes. You really must learn not to play with your food. 

You need to finish this soon or you’ll be late, and you really really do not want to be late for this. You look back toward the target but their head is no longer visible in the crowd.

Shit. Domesticity is making you sloppy. Dasha did try to warn you. Whatever.

Then suddenly you’re being hauled against a wall in an alley in between shops.

“Hi”

“Hi”

She’s pinned your wrists against the wall and she’s using almost all of her strength to do it. The brick scrapes the back of your hand and it feels fucking amazing.

“You’re getting-“

“Sloppy, yes I know. When did you realise?”

“When I got off the tube”

“No you didn’t!”

She grins and squeezes your wrists.

“Alright. Maybe about 5 minutes ago”

Hmm. How annoying. 

“I thought I’d been subtle”

“At one point you came close enough to touch my hair”

You grin. 

“What? Can you blame me?”

“I can not believe no one found you before I did.”

“I wanted you to find me. You know that”

She smiles and relaxes her grip slightly. 

This is the moment. You shift your weight and she doesn’t expect it. Then you have her pressed up against the opposite wall. Her wrists held in the same way she gripped yours. You slide your thigh in between her legs in just the way she likes.

Her eyes close and she swallows. 

“Do you want this? Want me to fuck you here against this wall? Or I could hold your wrists and let you ride me if you like?”

She makes a noise in the back of her throat and you feel her shift against your thigh, shift into the pressure.

Her voice is off a bit but she manages to focus enough to say “God yes. Either. Both.”

You smile and press into her again. She swallows and presses back. 

She gathers herself enough to continue, “.....But you’ve been going on about this movie for ages.”

You’re amused by that. 

“It’s ok, I can-“

“No, it’s fine. Let’s do the movie. We can always do this later, and actually, no, you can’t fuck me in an alley! God, what is wrong with me..”

You press your thigh into her and she hisses out another breath. 

“You’re sure?”

A pause. 

“No. So if you want to see this movie you’d better stop now”

You do really want to see the movie.

You press a kiss to her cheek and release her wrists before stepping back. 

She takes a second before offering you her hand to hold. 

You take it and she leads you toward the cinema. You think that perhaps this is the balance you were both searching for. Enough of the dark to be fun, but something simple in the background.

"You've booked the seats?" She asks.

You have but you ignore the question. 

“You know, we could compromise? We could always sit in the back row and I could fuck you during the trailers?”

“Very romantic. Isn’t it allocated seating?”

“Is that a no?”

She’s slow to answer and you’re very very pleased with yourself.

“Maybe”

You can work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....that’s it. Again. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who read this, left kudos or commented. A particular thanks to those who did all three! Comments are particularly appreciated whether good or bad so thanks for taking the time to do so.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing the fluffier chapters but as ever I keep getting drawn into them talking about their issues. I can’t keep clear of the drama despite my best intentions.
> 
> The angst-ier stuff sort of came from a left over niggle with s2 Eve who, I felt, was generally a dick to Villanelle for most of the season, albeit for understandable reasons. So I wanted to find a way to give Villanelle some agency in the relationship and an opportunity to decide the terms, without having to resort to violence as per the end of s2. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again!!


End file.
